Seven
ADAK
Oren looks at me with big eyes when I step back into my office. I realize it’s past ten at this point. Maybe too late for dinner. But I need to spend time with him. Everything in my body says so.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I can eat.”
“But are you hungry?”
Oren chews the inside of his lip. “A little.”
I toss my suit jacket and tie onto the hook and hang my slacks over a chair. There are always spare clothes hanging around my office. I never know when you’ll need a suit or need practice clothes. I got changed in the locker room, so I wasn’t dressed quite so drastically different from Oren.
Offering him my hand, I watch as he looks at it. He’s… not hesitant, exactly. But slow, cautious, as he puts his hand in mine. When our skin touches again, I’m sure I’m touching a current with the way the warmth from his skin moves into my body.
He smiles. It’s small and unsure. Squeezing his hand, I return his smile, making sure he knows he’s safe with me.
I take him to a diner close to the arena and we share a booth. As much as I want to stare at him unhindered, I also want to feel his body heat, so I sit beside him instead of across from him. He flushes and bows his head shyly, but doesn’t move away.
We order something we can share and milkshakes. Then we’re left alone. He looks at me bashfully.
“Tell me about yourself,” I say, beginning as generic and non threateningly as possible.
He licks his lips, and I immediately want to catch his tongue.
I want to kiss him. Only his voice when he speaks distracts me from the urge.
“I-I’m twenty-four,” he says, which I already knew.
Apparently, Traer had asked his age and he felt the need to tell me.
“I work—” His words cut off and I think he’s making a decision.
He presses his lips together, his eyebrows knit. Taking a breath, he meets my eyes for a beat and says, “I’m a moderator on a MMORPG game.”
“What’s that?”
“The moderator part or the MMORPG?” he asks.
I grin. “Both.”
“Oh. MMORPG stands for massively multi-player online role-playing game. It’s called Second World.
Basically, it’s like… a digital world where you create a character—an avatar—and you can do anything.
Go on quests, build a family, kill people.
” He shrugs. “I moderate accounts for cheaters and bad behavior.”
I’m not surprised that I have a wide smile as I listen to him. This is completely new to me and I’m already intrigued. “That sounds fun. Did you go to school for that?”
Wrong question. His cheeks flush and he bows his head. “No. I didn’t go to college.”
Under the table, I grip his hand. It pulls his attention to me. “I’m not judging. It sounds complicated.”
Oren shrugs. “It’s not really. There’s a lot of training and resources.
Plus, we get more training material all the time.
” He pauses. “I think it’d be fun to create games like this.
Part of what I do is look at code in the background to try to catch cheats.
It’s fascinating to know that a certain combination of characters means ‘red hair’ or ‘ogre.’”
He really does enjoy his job. The more he talks about it, the more comfortable he becomes. But he changes the subject before I’m done asking questions. “Did you play hockey?”
I nod. “In high school and college, but instead of going pro, I decided to coach instead. You’re a hockey fan?” It’s somewhat a stupid question. He was at tonight’s game.
Maybe he thinks so too. He smiles, and it’s the first one I see that’s not filled with timidity. It’s coy. “I know enough to enjoy it, yeah.”
I love the way he answers. We’re caught staring at each other when the waitress brings our meal. For the rest of the evening, the next three hours, we chat easily and I can already tell that one night with Oren is definitely not enough. I need more.
Marlon Emmons broke both bones in his lower leg.
If I could have kept that from Axtell, I would have.
The way he looks horrified and then haunted makes me want to hug him.
It wasn’t his fault at all. The collision wasn’t even particularly hard.
It was happenstance. The way their legs tangled and the impact with the board at just the wrong angle that wrenched Emmons in such a way that he snapped.
As the news filters through the locker room, Hollinger does what isn’t appropriate for me to do. He hugs Axtell tightly, reassuring him it wasn’t his fault.
It truly wasn’t. But hockey injuries, especially really serious ones, have a way of being felt throughout the entire league.
No one wants to see a player injured like that.
In hockey, pulled muscles and strains are the name of the game.
Aches in your joints and bruises go hand in hand with a full contact sport like hockey.
But breaks like Emmons’? Those are the kinds of things we want to avoid.
I let the guys take a little longer in the locker room while they digest the news about Emmons. At best, he’d be out for the rest of this season and the beginning of the next. Worst-case scenario—he’ll not play hockey again.
While my team comforts each other, I head onto the rink and skate the perimeter. My phone buzzes in my pocket, so I pull it out. A smile climbs across my face unbidden when I see Oren’s name.
There’s nothing to his message. Just a hi. Telling me he’s at work. By that, he means Nutter Bean, but sitting in the back on his laptop doing his actual job.
We text back and forth for a few minutes as my team starts trickling onto the ice. I let them be as they do their own thing for a bit. I find they’re usually in a much better mindset if I let them free skate at the beginning of practice.
Just as I’m about to call practice to begin, Oren texts me again.
Oren
What’re you doing?
I tilt my head to the side. He knows where I am and what time I’m holding practice today. I have a feeling that maybe he’s a little… lonely? Needy? The desire to see him right now and assure him of whatever he’s insecure about is strong enough that I form an idea that maybe I shouldn’t act on.
Me
Do you have set hours you need to mod?
Oren
No. I can work as little or as much as I want. There just needs to be at least eight mods on at a time. Usually, there’s ten or twelve, though.
Me
How many are on right now?
Oren
Eleven.
“Ready?” Traer asks.
I hold up a hand. “You can get them started.”
He nods and turns away, using his whistle to call everyone in. I turn my attention back to Oren.
Me
How do you feel about not working for the day and joining me at practice? We’ll go to the park and dinner after?
Oren
Are you sure? Am I allowed to do that?
I can practically hear his anxiety in his words.
Me
Yes, I’m sure. I just gave you permission. I’ll let security know - go to the player door. Do you need a ride?
Oren
I’ll take a Shuttled.
Me
You sure? I can send a car.
Oren
I’m sure. I’ll be there soon. Thank you!
Honestly, I’m a little selfish for wanting to see him right now.
I’m not sure if I invited him for him or for me.
I call security and give them Oren’s name.
While I told Oren to go to the player door out back, there’s a chance that he might not know where that is and may try a different door, so I ask them to keep an eye out and please bring him to me.
While I wait, I watch Traer with the team. I can feel the weight on everyone’s shoulders. The stormy cloud hanging over their heads, flashing with thunder and lightning. They’re stressed. Discouraged. Beaten.
Maybe this would be good for everyone. I let Traer continue practice until I see Oren being led in.
He’s in a zipped up hoodie but already looks cold.
I meet him at the chute. Oren smiles shyly as he looks up at me.
Normally, we’re pretty close to the same height, but I’m several inches taller in skates.
“Thanks for inviting me,” he says.
I reach for his hand, and his grip on mine is as tight as I hold him. “You didn’t bring anything warm.”
His smile widens. “It’s not this cold at the coffee shop.”
“Mmm,” I say and pull him down the chute toward my office. I always have a few hoodies and hats lying around. Some days I’m cold, but others I get hot and the hoodies remain here, forgotten that I’d worn one that day.
I offer Oren the warmest of the three I currently have hanging on the hook. Then a beanie. When he eyes the gloves, I hand those to him as well.
“Do you know how to skate?” I ask.
Oren shakes his head. “No. I’ve never had a reason to learn.”
“Are you opposed to getting on the ice?”
He chews the inside of his lip before shaking his head. “I’ll try.”
Gripping his hand tightly in mine again, where it feels far too good and I’m already addicted to holding it, I lead him into the locker room and toward the storage room. It’s clear he’s never been in a locker room, as he looks around with wonder and curiosity.
From the storage room, we find a pair of skates that’ll fit him, and I help him into them. He waddles with me, his hold on me even tighter now, as I lead him to the rink.
“I’m going to fall on my face,” he mutters as we get closer, his eyes wide as he stares at the team doing drills. “This might be humiliating.”
I kiss the side of his head, unable to help myself. “Not at all.”
As soon as we step onto the ice, one by one my players spot me, and practice comes to a stop. Traer recognizes Oren, and he gives me a curious, amused look.
“We’ve had a very hard season,” I say. The team loses inches right in front of me.
“We all know that. I know you’re trying your hardest and I’m so incredibly proud of you for not giving up and always giving your full effort to every game.
I’m both relieved and sorry to say that the season is nearly over.
I think we all need a break to get our heads on straight so we can come back fresh, yeah? ”
I receive a very enthusiastic cheer, which only solidifies my decision to alter practice. Oren hasn’t gone unnoticed as he hangs onto me with a vice grip while also trying to hide behind me.
“This is a friend of mine, Oren,” I say, gently pulling him from behind me.
His face is bright red as he stares with wide eyes at the team.
They can’t help themselves but smile. Even Axtell, who’s still feeling bad.
“I thought we’d skip normal practice today.
I think we need to remember that while hockey is our job, it’s supposed to be fun.
Not everyone might agree with that, but I think that sports should be fun.
It’s not just competition and winning. You give a lot of your time, energy, and sacrifice your bodies for this game. I want it to be fun.”
Hollinger nods. “Are we playing tag?” he asks, smirking.
“I don’t know, but I definitely think we need to come up with a fun, ridiculous way to practice today. Something that will focus on different skills as well as make you laugh. What do you got?”
Messer looks at Oren with a grin. “I don’t think your friend is comfortable on skates, Coach.
” His emphasis on friend says I didn’t fool them at all.
Which is fine. I only called him a friend because we’ve known each other for exactly three days.
We haven’t even had a conversation about seeing each other, never mind officially something more.
What I really wanted to call him was mine.
“You let me worry about Oren. I want to see you move around this ice like you own it, and I want to hear your laughter.”
“Marco Polo,” Hollinger says. “I think it’ll help us use more than just our sight.”
“Ooh, freeze tag!” Lamar says. “When you’re tagged, you have to stay there until someone goes under your legs and unfreezes you!”
Traer looks at me, both amused and wary.
“Yes. Let’s do both. Start with Marco Polo. Go.”
“We need to split it into two rounds,” Hollinger says. “Or two teams? Modify it so we’re not already on top of each other on the ice.”
I keep Oren at my side, my arm around his waist to hold him up. As I knew would happen, Lamar is suddenly there with a big grin on. “Want to borrow my pads?” he asks, both teasing and serious. He’d absolutely give up his pads for someone.
“Maybe just your helmet,” Oren says. He’s surprised when Lamar offers it to him. “I didn’t mean you had to, for real.”
Lamar smiles. “I’m not going to have pucks launched at me today. I don’t need it.”
Oren reaches for it, his feet nearly coming out from under him as his center-of-gravity changes. I grip him tightly, but Lamar grabs his arms too. Together, we keep Oren on his feet.
“Quickly. Put the helmet on,” Lamar says, laughing.
Flushing, Oren does. Then Lamar offers his hands. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
Oren looks at me with question, and I incline my head, giving him permission if he’d like to go.
Turning back to Lamar, he gives my goalie his hands, and immediately, Lamar pulls him away.
Oren’s legs are stiff, his body shaking and jerking like a pole in a storm as he tries to stay upright.
Lamar’s smile doesn’t fade as he gives Oren instructions as he pulls my… uh, my friend around the rink.
It isn’t long before more of my players take an interest in Oren and their games shift to be more Oren inclusive. They’re definitely using some skills—mostly reflex as they try not to let Oren hit the ice. But what I really wanted to happen is. They’re laughing.
Traer stands next to me in the player’s bench. “This is your plan for the day?”
“What time is it, Traer?”
He glances at his watch. “Ten past three.”
“Yep. Practice ended forty minutes ago. But they’re still here.”
He hums, looking at me suspiciously, though still with a smile. He’s seriously one of the best assistant coaches I’ve had.
Oren catches my eye several times, and I know that I’ll never get enough of seeing that smile. I want to do everything humanly possible to keep it there.